


Trying Times

by zathara001



Series: Changing Times [3]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-08-31 00:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8554885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zathara001/pseuds/zathara001
Summary: A routine diplomatic mission becomes something more violent...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: This takes place just before the beginning of the five-year mission, after Unquiet Times and before Unsettling Times.
> 
> As always, all rights in this work are given to the owners of Star Trek.

"On final approach to Starbase One, Captain. Local time in San Francisco is zero five forty-five."

 

Despite the early hour, James T. Kirk smiled a little at the excitement underlying Lieutenant Sulu's simple announcement. They were home - not for long, and not many personnel would get to visit the starbase, let alone Earth beneath it - but home nonetheless.

 

"Take us in, Mr. Sulu," Jim ordered. "Gently, if you please. No sense waking sleeping admirals."

 

Sulu guided the _Enterprise_ into her assigned berth with a steady precision that would have impressed a surgeon. A handful of gentle _thumps_ reverberated through the ship. "Moorings attached."

 

"Thank you." Jim turned in his chair to face the gamma shift communications officer. "Lieutenant Mazza, please let Admiral Komack know that Commander Spock and I await his convenience."

 

"Yes, sir." The olive-skinned woman worked almost as efficiently as Uhura. She had the seniority to have second choice of shift assignment, and Jim idly wondered why she'd chosen gamma shift. Maybe someday he'd ask.

 

"Admiral Komack will be in his office at zero six hundred," Mazza reported after a moment.

 

"Inform the transporter room that Mr. Spock and I are on our way." Jim rose from his chair and stepped down to clap a hand on Sulu's shoulder. "You have the conn. It's a turn and burn, so don't let Scotty start any upgrades while we're here."

 

Sulu chuckled at the old-fashioned phrase. "Aye, sir."

 

"Spock." It was all Jim had to say - and, he reflected, he probably hadn't even had to say that much, thanks to the bond they shared - to have Spock rising from the science station to meet him at the turbolift.

 

"Turn and burn, Captain? I am not familiar with that phrase," Spock said as the turbolift doors slid shut.

 

"It means we won't be here long, and we'll be leaving at speed."

 

Spock considered that as the turbolift headed toward the transporter room. "Our orders said nothing about the speed of our departure."

 

"Not in so many words," Jim agreed. "But they wouldn't drag us back to Earth on a whim. Something's up. Something big. The only question is what."

 

*

 

Fifteen minutes later, Admiral Komack's assistant escorted them into the admiral's office.

 

"Captain Kirk and Commander Spock," the young man - new, or at least Jim hadn't seen him on his previous trips to the admiral's office - announced, and closed the door behind them.

 

Jim spared a glance through the admiral's window, the one that overlooked San Francisco Bay and Oakland beyond, where the first rays of dawn were burning the clouds in pinks and oranges. Only a glance, though, as Komack looked up from what Jim knew to be a never-ending pile of datapads; he had one just like it on his desk aboard the _Enterprise_.

 

"Kirk. Spock," Komack acknowledged. "Sorry to drag you down here at this early hour, but these orders can only be given in person."

 

"Sir," Jim said by way of both acknowledgment and prompting the admiral to continue.

 

"You will be escorting a diplomatic party to Babel, who will meet with a Romulan envoy to negotiate a cessation of hostilities and the opening of diplomatic relations."

 

Spock's surprise echoed Jim's own through their bond and he could only hope his expression remained as neutral as Spock's own. It was something he'd hoped for since the defection of Commander Di'On Charvanek almost a year before - and though Spock would say hope was illogical, Jim knew his first officer was pleased at the turn of events. Still…yes, Spock shared his concern.

 

"With respect, Admiral," Spock said, "is it wise to send the _Enterprise_ on this mission? We were at the center of the last major hostile encounter with a Romulan."

 

That had been the destruction of Vulcan by what the elder version of Spock had called, with understatement remarkable even for a Vulcan, a _particularly troubled_ Romulan. Nero.

 

"The Romulans specifically requested the _Enterprise_ ," Komack said, "and the personnel who were aboard her at the time."

 

The hairs at the back of Jim's neck prickled uneasily. "Did they say why, sir?"

 

"Part of the goodwill effort," Komack replied, and while it wasn't really an answer, Jim figured it was all they were going to get. "From here, you will proceed to New Vulcan to pick up the diplomatic team that will be handling this negotiation, and then to Babel."

 

"Yes, sir," Jim said, and waited to be dismissed.

 

Instead, Komack scowled at them, and Jim reviewed his recent memories to try to figure out what they'd done to earn the admiral's wrath this time.

 

"What I am about to tell you does not leave this room," Komack said. "Your officers and personnel will know at the proper time, but until then, no one else does. Clear?"

 

"Crystal," Jim replied, his curiosity burning, and Spock said, "Understood."

 

"President Kiraly will be leading the diplomatic team. She'll beam aboard just before you depart."

 

 _Fuck_ , Jim thought. What he said was, "It's our pleasure to host the president. Will there be any escort ships?"

 

"No." Komack picked up a datapad from his desk, extended it to Jim. "The mission brief. The president said she'd beam up sometime between eleven and twelve our time."

 

"Sir," Jim said, and Spock echoed it. Then they were turning in unison, striding for the door.

 

Jim waited until they were in a deserted corridor - most corridors were, at this early hour - before he glanced at Spock.

 

"Thoughts, Spock?"

 

"A most unusual mission, Captain," Spock replied.

 

Jim couldn't help laughing. "You say that about most of our missions."

 

"They have all been interesting." Spock, as usual, was unperturbed by Jim's amusement. "Some more than others."

 

"Uh-huh." Jim fell into step a pace behind Spock so he could scan the contents of the datapad as they walked, trusting Spock not to let him walk into anything. Nothing he hadn't expected, until he came to the personnel roster, which made him grin.

 

"Captain?" Spock asked quietly.

 

"Your father's part of the diplomatic party," Jim said. "Also Commander Charvanek and the old man."

 

"The … old man?"

 

"The other you. What else should I call him?"

 

"Ambassador Spock will suffice."

 

"Isn't that confusing? You and him with the same name?"

 

"No more than the thousand or so James Kirks in existence at any time are confusing."

 

There was nothing, Jim reflected, quite like being put in your place by a Vulcan.

 

*

 

For all that he'd told Sulu this was a turn-and-burn - the orders Komack had given him included the phrase "immediate departure," after all - Jim now faced five to six hours at Starbase One before the president beamed aboard the _Enterprise_. More surprising than a bureaucracy's inefficiency, however, was the fact that none of those hours had to be spent in debriefing.

 

So he sent Spock back to the _Enterprise_ with orders to allow any repairs or _minor_ upgrades that could be completed in four hours or less, and commed Admiral Pike's office.

 

Pike's assistant told him that the admiral was lecturing early today, and it only took one invocation of Pike's special relationship with the _Enterprise_ and her crew - and one wide-eyed stare from Pike's assistant when Jim identified himself - before Jim had the location of Pike's lecture.

 

Why the hell anyone would want to attend a lecture at zero six thirty was beyond Jim, but he supposed Pike's reputation would draw the most dedicated students. Or the ones who mistakenly thought sucking up to Pike was a fast-track route to a captaincy.

Ten minutes later, he slipped into the Gagarin Auditorium and took a seat in the back. Only a few of the cadets looked up, blinking somewhat blearily at his gold working uniform shirt that stood out in a sea of cadet burgundy before returning their attention to the man at the podium.

 

Pike's lecture today was on the qualities of a starship captain.

 

 _Helluva thing to have to focus on this early in the morning,_ Jim thought and settled in to listen, slouching just enough that his gold shirt wouldn't be too obvious to the man at the podium.

 

"Dostoyevsky asked what makes a hero," Pike said. "He listed several qualities that, while they may or may not define a hero, are certainly useful to a starship captain. He included courage, strength, morality, withstanding adversity. Let's look at each of these traits in turn and apply them to commanding a starship."

 

Jim listened as Pike examined both positive and negative aspects of each trait, providing relevant examples from both ancient and recent history. Jim had attended several of Pike's command-track lectures - none quite this early in the morning, though - but this one held his attention the most, its content reverberating in his soul.

 

It was a surprise that Pike used Jim's father to illustrate morality rather than courage, but the more Jim thought about the points Pike made, the more it made sense. _Not that Pike would ever choose the obvious example in a situation like this_.

 

Finally, Pike concluded and opened the floor for questions. It was the moment Jim had been waiting for, and before Pike could call on any of the cadets who'd raised their hands, Jim spoke in a voice pitched to carry.

 

"Dostoyevsky left something out."

 

Pike looked up, obviously surprised by the comment, scanned the crowd for the speaker, and when his gaze landed on Jim, Jim could see his lips twitch as he asked, "What did he leave out?"

 

"Being on friendly terms with Lady Luck." Jim let his tone take on a fervent note, and the assembled cadets laughed - a cut-off sound that suggested they weren't sure whether they were allowed to.

 

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" Pike countered before addressing the assembly once more. "For those of you who don't recognize him - and if you're past first year, you _should_ recognize him - that's Captain James Kirk."

 

Jim watched the ripple of surprise run through the crowd, unease slithering down his spine. Maybe he shouldn't have been such a smartass.

 

The _maybe_ became a certainty when Pike continued, "And I'm sure you'd rather ask him questions than me, so Captain, please come to the podium."

 

 _Leaping before looking isn't always the best plan_ , Jim told himself, but he rose and made his way down to the podium with as much good grace as he could muster.

 

But when he was shaking hands with Pike he said, without heat, "I hate you."

 

Pike just grinned. "You brought it on yourself."

 

Jim didn't sigh, though he wanted to. "I usually do."

 

He turned to face the assembly of cadets, and said, "I've got an hour - or until they kick us out of this room. Let's use the time well, okay? You, there - the redhead in the third row."

 

"Will you tell us how you reprogrammed the _Kobayashi Maru_?"

 

Jim couldn't help chuckling. "Even if I did, it wouldn't help you now."

 

"Sir?"

 

"I helped them fix the loop I used. Added a few other layers of programming security, too." He nodded toward another cadet. "Deltan in the fifth row?"

 

"Isn't that a touch … hypocritical?"

 

"That's the least of the crimes I've been accused of," Jim answered, with a grin that had the cadets chuckling. "But the truth is, sometimes you have to let people do dumb things. Or continue doing them, in this case."

 

"How do you know when those times are?"

 

"If you ever figure it out, let me know," Jim told him seriously, and moved on to the next question.


	2. Chapter 2

Almost an hour later, Jim said, "Last question," and pointed to a human male in the second row.

 

"Do you think of your father as a hero? And if so, do you think heroism runs in the family?"

 

Jim tensed at the question, so different from the others he'd been asked. The other questions had to do with day-to-day life aboard ship, types of missions, things he'd expected. This came from nowhere.

 

Pike must have noticed his distress, because he started forward. "That's inappropriate -"

 

Jim held up a hand to cut off Pike's protest. "No, it's a legitimate question. I just wasn't expecting it."

 

The auditorium was silent except for the low hum of the climate control system and the occasional rustle of fabric. Jim blew out a breath and met the cadet's gaze without flinching.

 

"When you look at the facts objectively," Jim said, "of course he was a hero, and I'm proud to be his son. Looking at the same facts subjectively, there've been days I wish I had my father instead, and there are still days I hate him for what he did. As to whether it runs in the family -" Jim paused and surveyed the room "- that's not for me to judge. Thank you."

 

He stepped back from the podium to let Pike handle the handful of questions about his lecture. Before he could be swarmed by cadets with _just one more question, Captain,_ Jim straightened and put on his captain's expression and demeanor. More clearly than words, it conveyed _do not approach unless it's a crisis - and you_ do _know what a crisis is, don't you?_

 

As the auditorium emptied, Jim let out a silent breath and with it, he hoped, the tension that had settled between his shoulders for some reason. It wasn't speaking in front of a crowd that had done it, Jim knew that - hell, he'd faced more terrifying situations since the time he ran his father's antique Corvette off a cliff in Iowa - but he was completely at a loss as to what else might have caused that sudden tension.

 

"It's a bitch, isn't it?"

 

Jim looked over at Pike's casual question. "What is?"

 

"Living up to your own reputation, not just your father's."

 

"I'm pretty sure that reputation has been exaggerated," Jim replied. "Both of them, actually."

 

Pike grinned at that and said, "I'm sure you didn't come here just to upstage me at my own lecture."

 

Jim ducked his head. "Sorry."

 

Pike studied him for a moment. "Concerns about the mission?"

 

Jim frowned at him. "You know -?"

 

"See these?" Pike nodded to the insignia on the epaulets of his uniform. "They say _admiral_ , as in the Admiralty, remember?"

 

Jim chuckled. "Yeah, well, Komack swore us to secrecy. I figured that extended to the rest of the Admiralty, too." He looked up as the auditorium door opened and a pair of cadets came in - presumably for an eight a.m. class. "Someplace we can talk privately?"

 

"I have real coffee."

 

Jim fought the sudden anticipation moistening his mouth. "I've been told that taking a desk job is not for me," he said. "But if desk jobs come with real coffee, I might have to reconsider."

 

"Uh-huh," Pike said. "My office is this way."

 

*

 

When he left Pike's office, Jim realized he needed to brush up on Federation politics - at least enough to bullshit his way through the various formal events that would likely take place during this mission. The best place to start, he decided, was with the president herself.

 

Jim hadn't bothered to vote in the last election. It had been during the months after the _Narada_ incident, and he'd been so busy with coursework the Academy insisted he finish - they'd decided that commanding the _Enterprise_ during a successful defense of Earth counted toward completion of the required Advanced Starship Tactics course, but refused to credit that same experience toward Organizational Behavior or Personnel Planning, Development and Appraisal - and overseeing the _Enterprise's_ refit that the first he'd even realized there'd been an election was when the people around him started talking about Sarika Kiraly's upset victory.

 

 _Good for her_ , he'd thought, and dived back into his duties.

 

Now, while he waited for her to beam aboard, Jim scanned a news archive to try to bring himself up to date.

 

Which didn't take as long as he'd expected. With a groan, he shoved his datapad into its place in the armrest of the captain's chair.

 

"Are you well, Captain?" Spock asked.

 

"Well enough," Jim answered absently.

 

"Should you see Dr. McCoy?"

 

That made Jim chuckle. "No, Spock. I'm just frustrated."

 

Spock rose from his station and came to stand beside him. "What is the source of your frustration?"

 

"I was just catching up on Federation politics. Nothing's changed since we left, except a couple of the names."

 

Spock tilted his head fractionally to one side. "What did you expect would have changed?"

 

"More hope than expectation," Jim admitted. Before he could say anything else, Uhura spoke from her station.

 

"Captain." She sounded puzzled. "I'm receiving a request for a diplomatic party to board." She turned to him. "I thought we were picking up the diplomats on New Vulcan."

 

Jim glanced at the chronometer. He'd been told the president would beam aboard between eleven and twelve, and the chronometer read 1113. "At least they're punctual."

 

"Indeed," Spock said.

 

"Tell them five minutes, please, Lieutenant, and ask Yeoman Rand to meet me in the transporter room." Jim toggled the intercom on his chair. "Bridge to Engineering. Report, Scotty?"

 

"I kicked the last of the Starbase lads out a while ago, Captain," Scotty replied. "We're ready to depart."

 

"Good job," Jim said. "Kirk out. Mr. Sulu."

 

"Yes, Captain?"

 

"Confirm with Starbase One. I want us cleared to leave in ten minutes."

 

"Aye, sir."

 

Jim rose from the chair and looked at Spock. "You have the conn."

 

"Aye, Captain."

 

As the turbolift doors swooshed closed, Jim heard Uhura asking, "What's going on, Spock? Who are we picking up?"

 

Jim sensed Spock's reply through their bond. _"I will be at liberty to inform you once the transport is complete."_

 

Yeoman Rand was waiting for him outside the transporter room.

 

"Sorry for the short notice," he told her, "but you'll have a few more people to arrange accommodation for."

 

"How many is a few, Captain?" she asked as they entered the transporter room.

 

"One VIP. Beyond that, we'll know when they beam up."

 

Rand frowned, the expression making her features unusually severe. "That's hardly protocol, Captain."

 

"It is for this mission," Jim said. He glanced at the transporter tech on duty. "Whenever they're ready, Ensign."

 

"They report ready in three. Two. One."

 

Jim straightened to attention as four figures solidified on the platform. Three men, who he assumed were the presidential security detail, and the president. Beside him, he heard Rand's gasp, and then she, too, was standing at attention.

 

"I believe the proper phrase is, permission to come aboard?" President Kiraly asked, her voice soft but commanding.

 

"Yes, ma'am, and welcome," Jim said. "I'm Captain Kirk, and this is Yeoman Rand. She's your contact for anything you might need while you're aboard."

 

"A pleasure, Yeoman." The president stepped down from the transporter pad. "As is being here. I've never been aboard a starship before."

 

"Would you like to be on the bridge for departure?"

 

She smiled, and a couple of decades dropped away from her.

 

"Yeoman, will you escort the rest of her party to their quarters?"

 

"Yes, sir. This way, gentlemen."

 

One of the men - the one Jim suspected was in charge - frowned, but President Kiraly waved him on.

 

"Surely I'm perfectly safe aboard the Federation's flagship."

 

"Yes, ma'am," he said, and with a nod of his head, gathered the other two to follow Rand.

 

Jim confirmed with the transporter technician that the presidential party's bags had been beamed aboard via the cargo transporter, then gestured for President Kiraly to precede him from the room.

 

"It's an ambitious mission you've set yourself, Madam President," Jim said as they made their way to the turbolift.

 

"A necessary one," she said. "If we don't act soon, the Romulan people will be destroyed."

 

"In a century or so," Jim said, "assuming the star is unstable in this timeline."

 

Kiraly smiled. "As I said, soon. Even if this mission is successful, we can't expect the Romulan people to assimilate overnight."

 

"I hope it is successful."

 

Kiraly arched an eyebrow at him. "Truly?"

 

Jim hit the button for the bridge. "Why does that surprise you?"

 

"You are Starfleet - I would think the last thing a military organization wants is peace."

 

"We're descended from Terran naval forces, yes, but we're not strictly speaking a military organization," Jim said, and fought to keep his disappointment and, yes, anger, at her lack of understanding from his tone. "Our mission is, in part, to seek out new life and new civilizations. We hope those will be peaceful, but sometimes they're not, and so we have to defend ourselves and the Federation, but it's not our primary purpose."

 

"Hmm."

 

Jim was oddly grateful he hadn't voted in the election - if all politicians were as ignorant as this one seemed to be, he'd rather none of them were in office. Thankfully, the turbolift doors opened onto the bridge just then, so he was spared the need to make further conversation.

 

He knew exactly when Chekov recognized his companion by the break in the ensign's voice. "Keptin on ze… bridge."

 

Jim paused to allow President Kiraly to join him, intentionally keeping his crew at attention for the moment.

 

"Madam President, may I present the finest crew in Starfleet." Jim heard the pride in his own tone and smiled. It was simply the truth. "Our orders are to get underway immediately, so formal introductions will have to wait. As you were."

 

As normal activity resumed, he stepped down toward the center seat. "Status, Mr. Spock?"

 

"Pre-flight checklist completed, Captain."

 

Jim nodded an acknowledgment and turned to President Kiraly. "My executive officer and science officer, Commander Spock."

 

Spock inclined his head. "Madam President."

 

She nodded in return, still surveying the bridge with wonder. Jim thought that maybe it wasn't only his crew that might be a little star-struck.

 

Still, right now he had orders to follow. He took the seat Spock vacated, and toggled his all-call. "All decks, this is Captain Kirk. Prepare for immediate departure." He thumbed the switch and looked to Sulu. "Helm, thrusters."

 

"Moorings retracted," Sulu reported. "Dock control reports ready. Thrusters fired…. Separating from spacedock."

 

Jim had only watched the separation twice before, and the sight of the stars apparently shifting as the _Enterprise_ seemed to fall away from her moorings brought to mind lines from a poem he'd read once.

 

_I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,_

_And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by._

 

The poet had been speaking of a water-navy life, but Jim thought he'd appreciate that his words also applied to starship captains.

 

"We are clear of spacedock, Captain," Sulu said, and Jim attributed the extra formality in his tone to the presence of their guest. "Ready for warp."

 

"Set course for New Vulcan."

 

"Aye, sir. Course laid in."

 

"Warp six, Lieutenant."

 

There was no shudder of engines, no tremor to suggest that they'd suddenly jumped to well beyond lightspeed. The only sign that anything had changed was that the stars on the screen became wavy and indistinct as the ship's computers tried to match the view to what their sensors were recording.

 

"Warp six," Sulu confirmed. "Estimated arrival at New Vulcan in five days, three hours."

 

The words brought Jim's focus back to the present, and he suppressed a sigh. Five days with a president who didn't understand his job, his mission, his calling.

 

Just remember, he told himself, it could be worse.


	3. Chapter 3

Five days later, Jim gave the orders that would put _Enterprise_ into stationary orbit above New Vulcan.

 

"All secure, Captain," Sulu reported.

 

"Thank you, Mr. Sulu," Jim said. "Ms. Uhura, please let them know we stand ready to receive the ambassadorial party at their convenience."

 

A moment later, Uhura reported, "They are prepared to beam up immediately."

 

"Of course they are," Jim murmured, then looked at Spock. "Mr. Spock, you're with me. Mr. Sulu, you have the conn."

 

"It'll be good to see Ambassador Sarek again," Jim said as they started toward the main transporter room - mostly because he felt he should say something. "And the other you."

 

"Indeed," Spock said. "I will be interested to know how Ambassador Charvanek was able to negotiate a meeting between our peoples so quickly. Given the Romulans' general aversion to the Federation, I would not have expected any such meeting for at least a handful of years."

 

"Spock made an attempt at rapprochement in his timeline," Jim said. "The effort to save Romulus was part of it. He probably knew who to contact, and how to go about it. Having the emperor's interest helped, too."

 

He felt Spock's gaze and curiosity through their bond. "How do you know this, Captain?"

 

"There was a lot of bleedover when he melded with me on Delta Vega," Jim replied. "And I've been keeping in touch with the other me. He told me some things."

 

"I see," Spock said as Jim led the way into the room.

 

"Are we ready?" Jim asked the technician on duty.

 

"Aye, sir, receiving confirmation from New Vulcan now."

 

"Energize," Jim ordered, and watched as the transporter pad filled with figures. He recognized Ambassador Sarek immediately, and flanking him on either side were the elder Spock and the Romulan commander - now ambassador, he reminded himself - Di'On Charvanek. The other pads were filled by Vulcan and Romulan aides. Jim almost frowned when he realized that his counterpart wasn't among them.

 

But the party was solidifying, and Jim schooled his expression to neutrality as he stepped forward to greet them, raising his hand in the _ta'al_.

 

"Ambassadors," he said. "Welcome aboard the _Enterprise_."

 

"Captain." Sarek returned the greeting, lowered his hand.

 

"My apologies for not receiving you more formally," Jim said, "but our orders are to depart New Vulcan immediately."

 

"Nothing more formal is necessary," Sarek replied. "There will be formal events when we rendezvous with the Romulan party."

 

"We appreciate your courtesy, Mr. Ambassador. If you'll excuse me, I'll return to the bridge and get us under way. Commander Spock will show you to your quarters."

 

"If you will come with me." Spock gestured to the door.

 

Sarek and the elder Spock lingered a moment. Jim sensed some unspoken communication between them, then the other Spock turned to him.

 

"Jim regrets that an allergic reaction prevented his attendance and sends his regards."

 

Jim grinned. "Probably not in those words."

 

He was rewarded with the slightest twitch of lips. "His exact words were, _Tell the kid if anything goes wrong, I'll kill him myself._ "

 

Jim had to chuckle. "That I believe. We'll talk soon."

 

"I look forward to it." The elder Spock nodded, then left the room, and Jim realized he was alone with Ambassador Sarek - Spock's father.

 

"Ambassador," Jim said, pitching the word as an invitation - though for what, he did not know.

 

"You may use my name."

 

Jim blinked, the only sign of his surprise at the offer. "Then I'm Jim."

 

"Jim." Sarek inclined his head. "Please join me for dinner tonight."

 

This conversation kept surprising him. Jim strove for a normal tone. "It would be my honor, Sarek."

 

Sarek followed his alternate son from the room, leaving Jim staring after them.

 

*

 

The rest of the day passed in a flurry of updates to Starfleet, a reception for the diplomatic party with President Kiraly - though Sarek had said nothing formal was necessary, Jim knew what the Admiralty expected and determined to give it to them, after a fashion - and his normal duties.

 

The end of shift came sooner than he'd expected, and Jim handed off the bridge to his beta shift relief.

 

He was at the door to his quarters before he remembered. Dinner with Sarek.

 

Jim cursed under his breath, then sent a message to Sarek informing the ambassador that he was available for dinner at his convenience before turning into the 'fresher to run a comb through his hair and clean his teeth.

 

Sarek's answering message was waiting for him, and it confirmed what he'd suspected - that Sarek would receive him at any time.

 

Jim straightened his shoulders, and started for the VIP guest quarters.

 

"Sarek," Jim said when the door to the ambassador's quarters slid open.

 

"Jim. Enter."

 

Sarek stepped aside to let him into the guest quarters, and Jim was mildly surprised to find the temperature set only a handful of degrees above ship's norm. Spock normally kept his quarters much warmer than that, and Jim had expected Sarek to do the same.

 

He followed Sarek to the small sitting area, where a selection of what a human might call antipasti or tapas had been arranged on a low table. One other fact registered.

 

"You didn't have to provide meat," Jim said.

 

"I am aware that most humans eat it," Sarek replied. "It was no trouble to replicate some."

 

"Thank you." Jim sat when Sarek did, and then realized that he had no idea what to say. Vulcans didn't make small talk, but that didn't mean Jim felt comfortable sitting and eating in silence. Still, that was Sarek's preference, so he could endure a little discomfort.

 

Once they had served themselves, Sarek met Jim's gaze.

 

"Spock informed me that you are bonded with him."

 

Jim felt his eyes widening in surprise. Of all the things Sarek might have wanted to talk about, his relationship with Spock hadn't even made the list.

 

"Yes. It happened during that first mission, during the … incident … on the bridge." That was as diplomatic as Jim could be. He didn't want to bring up unpleasant memories, but he wouldn't shy from the truth, either.

 

"That was well done."

 

Jim could only stare at him, supposing the conversation would be full of surprises. "What?"

 

"He was emotionally compromised, yet would not admit it." Sarek's eyes grew distant for a moment. "In that regard, he is much like his mother."

 

 _Father, too, I'd bet_ , Jim thought. What he said aloud was, "I knew I had to get him to show it. I regret the means I used."

 

"Do not regret efficiency, Jim. Nor effectiveness." Sarek set his plate aside. "What has he told you of the bond between you?"

 

Jim studied him for a moment before he, too, set his plate aside. "He said we are _t'hy'la_."

 

"Do you know what that means?"

 

"Standard has no equivalent," Jim said. "Spock has used the terms friend, brother, lover, more-than-kin… but I think of it as the thousandth man."

 

Sarek raised one eyebrow. "The thousandth man?"

 

"A poem by the Terran poet Kipling," Jim said, and then quoted, " _One man in a thousand, Solomon says, will stick more close than a brother… the thousandth man will stand by your side, to the gallow's foot and after._ There's a lot more, but that's the spirit of the piece."

 

Sarek appeared to consider those words. "I will look up this poem. Has Spock told you how uncommon such a bond is?"

 

"I assumed any bond between a Vulcan and a human is rare." Jim kept his voice even.

 

"While that is true, I referred to a _t'hy'la_ bond in itself."

 

"Vulcans are telepaths," Jim said, and then realized that Sarek wouldn't necessarily have followed his thought process and added, "so bonds can't be that rare."

 

"Family bonds are not." Sarek didn't add _obviously_ , but he didn't need to. "And of course we bond with our mates. But a _t'hy'la_ bond is different. It cannot be forced or chosen."

 

Jim wondered, idly, how one could tell the difference, after the bond was formed. What he said was, "Spock told me that the bond formed when he attacked me on the bridge. He said because he was compromised, he attacked both physically and mentally."

 

"Such a bond would not remain unless both minds were prepared to accept it."

 

Jim's stomach cramped from the effort to hold back laughter. When he thought he could speak reasonably, he said, "I don't believe either of us was prepared to accept it at that time."

 

"Perhaps not consciously," Sarek allowed. "But nonetheless, I am gratified that my son has a _t'hy'la,_ however inauspiciously the bond may have begun."

 

Maybe it was an echo of Spock's perceptions through their bond, or maybe Jim was more perceptive than he'd thought - or maybe he was just a little crazy - but Jim translated that to mean _I'm glad my son has a friend._

 

And just what, Jim wondered, was he supposed to say to _that_ without embarrassing both of them? He turned several possibilities over in his mind, finally settled on simply nodding and taking a sip from the glass nearest his chair. Tea, as he'd suspected … but not Vulcan. It tasted of chamomile and vanilla.

 

"Terran tea?" Jim couldn't help asking.

 

"It was a favorite of Amanda's. I have developed an affinity for it as well."

 

"Understandable," he said because he had to say something after bringing up what had to be painful memories. "It has a pleasant flavor. Soothing, even."

 

"Indeed." Sarek took a sip of his own tea, then regarded Jim gravely. "Understand that you are as much a part of my family as Spock."

 

Jim had to take another sip of his tea to buy himself time to formulate a response to that. Vulcans might not show emotions much, but they damn sure _had_ them, and apparently discussed them in the obliquest of terms, trusting that everyone else would understand what they were _really_ saying.

 

When "everyone else" were all Vulcan, Jim had no doubt the conversations made perfect sense. But he was human, and he didn't know all the subtleties involved.

 

Sarek appeared to sense his discomfort - and now Jim was thinking of his own feelings in almost Vulcan terms, apparently - because he changed topics.

 

"I understand your mother is in Starfleet, also."

 

"Science officer aboard the _Bradbury_ ," Jim said. "She had her pick of postings after the _Feynman_ incident, and chose to serve with Captain Abbott."

 

"Not with you?"

 

Only a Vulcan, Jim mused, could have asked that question without accusation.

 

"No," he said. "We're not close."

 

Sarek just sipped his tea, but from Spock, Jim would've read the gesture as an invitation to continue, so he did.

 

"The circumstances of my birth made it difficult for her," he said. "And me, too, when I was old enough to understand. We don't hate each other or anything, but we're more like acquaintances than family."

 

"The complexities of human relationships remain a mystery to me," Sarek said. "However, if it would not be too difficult for either of you, I would welcome an opportunity to meet her."

 

"More the complexities of different assignments," Jim muttered. To Sarek's raised eyebrow, he said, " _Bradbury_ and _Enterprise_ aren't often in the same place at the same time. But I'll see if we can arrange leave together, and let you know."

 

Sarek inclined his head in acknowledgment. Then, after a moment, he added, "Welcome to my family, Jim."

 

 _Family?_ Jim thought, surprised - and then thought that he shouldn't be. _Brother_ , and surely a Vulcan would respect that in all its meanings. There was, really, only one thing to say.

 

"I am honored to be part of it."

 

*

 

When Jim finally left Sarek's quarters half an hour later, he found himself at odds, not wanting to return to his quarters and at the same time, not wanting to do anything else in particular.

 

He considered tracking down Bones for… what? A drink and conversation? He'd just had that with Sarek, and there was no way Jim could talk about any of that with Bones. It wasn't just because he had the sense that, as with so many things, Vulcans were very private about bonds in general and _t'hy'la_ bonds in particular. But Bones would _tease_ , and that felt _wrong_ just now.

 

He considered a game of chess with Spock - either Spock, really - and found those unappealing at the moment, too. His emotions were still too raw, and that rawness too connected to Spock, for him to find any solace or sanctuary with either of them.

 

The words surprised him, and he turned them over in his mind.

 

 _Solace._ _Sanctuary_.

 

For once, Jim realized, he actually needed to be alone, to absorb all that had just happened, and yet just sitting and thinking didn't come naturally to him.

 

So he walked.

 

He walked the corridors of the _Enterprise_ , letting the rhythm of his footsteps, steady and comforting, bring that same feeling to his thoughts.

 

Or tried to.

 

The corridors were relatively quiet, this deep into beta shift, but there were still crewmembers going about their duties or off-shift pursuits, and each one greeted him and needed to be greeted in turn, so his thoughts never quite settled.

 

Where could he go - that wasn't his cabin - to find some quiet?

 

_We are in warp._

 

The words came with Spock's inflection, and Jim wondered if he'd actually heard them through the bond, or if his subconscious had just chosen to speak to him as if he were Spock.

 

Either way, he knew where to go.

 

Not long after Zefram Cochrane invented the warp drive, he also discovered that most humans couldn't tolerate looking at the view outside when a ship was in warp. Their minds simply couldn't process the nothingness they saw, resulting in dizziness and nausea in mild cases, and passing out in the worst cases.

 

Jim was one of the minority who could observe the warp process without ill effects. Maybe it was compensation for all the allergies he had, or maybe it was because he'd been born among the stars and they would never reject him. Whatever the reason, tonight it meant that he was guaranteed one place that should be empty - the main observation lounge.

 

The door hissed open, and Jim took three steps before he realized he wasn't alone as he'd expected.

 

A single figure stood framed against the largest viewport. In the dim light of the observation lounge, Jim could only make out that it was female. He was just stepping back toward the door when the figure turned and spoke.

 

"Captain Kirk."

 

He recognized the voice even as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. "Commander Charvanek." Something flashed across her expression that he couldn't quite read, and he added, "My apologies - Ambassador Charvanek."

 

"No apology necessary," she said. "I just haven't been called _Commander_ in a long while. I'd forgotten what it sounds like."

 

Jim crossed to where she stood at the waist-high railing that lined the room. "How are you doing?"

 

"Well enough." Charvanek gave a slight shrug. "Better than I had any expectation of. Building a colony is challenging, satisfying work."

 

"I hear a but in there."

 

She looked back out the viewport at the miasma surrounding them. "I miss the stars."

 

"You took a desk job," Jim said, thinking of his alternate self's words to him. "It's never good for people like us to take desk jobs."

 

"It was necessary," she said, her tone one of conviction and determination, and Jim found himself respecting her more than he had. "And honorable. I don't regret it - but I would not have chosen it."

 

Jim silently acknowledged that, and after a moment, something in her presence relaxed, however fractionally.

 

"You understand," she murmured.

 

"I hope I would've had the courage to do the same thing."

 

That made her grin. "You, Captain James T. Kirk, fear you lack courage?"

 

Jim chuckled and leaned toward her conspiratorially. "Don't tell anyone, okay? It'd ruin my reputation."

 

"Which one?" she countered. "You have several."

 

Jim studied her a moment. If she'd been human, he'd read the light in her eyes, the tone of her voice, as teasing - maybe even seductive. He matched it. "Whichever one you like."

 

"I am not one to go quietly through life." For all that the words were a declaration, her voice was soft.

 

"No," Jim said. "You're not."

 

"Neither are you." She took a step toward him, bringing her close enough that he could sense the heat of her body against the chill of space beyond the viewport.

 

"No." Jim swallowed, hard, his gaze never leaving hers.

 

"Captain -"

 

"Commander."

 

Later, Jim wouldn't remember which one of them closed the final distance to bring their lips together, only the sensation of hers hard against his own, fierce and determined, and there was nothing quiet about it.


	4. Chapter 4

Jim wasn't surprised that it became a regular thing - attending to his duties as captain during alpha shift, then socializing with the older Spock, Sarek, the president, or the rest of the diplomatic party, as required. Then, when the last of those duties was completed, he'd make his way to the observation lounge, where Di'On would be waiting.

 

Jim was surprised that their evenings together didn't always include sex. Sometimes, of course - but other times, they simply talked or sat together in companionable, understanding silence as they watched the empty warpfield outside.

 

The night before they were due to drop out of warp for final approach to Babel, their sixth night together, Jim stepped onto the observation lounge to find Di'On sitting at one of the tables, a bottle and two glasses before her.

 

His eyes widened as he drew closer and saw that the liquid in the bottle was blue. "Is that - Romulan ale?"

 

"The last of what I brought with me," Di'On replied.

 

"That is very illegal in Federation space."

 

"I won't tell if you won't."

 

Jim chuckled and took the seat across from her. "The last that you brought, you said?"

 

"Yes." She lifted the bottle to fill first his glass then hers.

 

"I'm honored that you're sharing it with me," Jim said, and lifted his glass. "To successful negotiations."

 

Di'On touched her glass to his. "To success."

 

It wasn't quite the same thing, Jim reflected as he sipped the not-quite-sweet ale. Still, he supposed it was close enough - and the taste of the liquid sliding down his throat made him decide not to be picky.

 

"Oh, that's good," he murmured.

 

"Have you had it before?"

 

"Illegal in Federation space, remember?"

 

Di'On laughed. "Ah, but such an enterprising captain as yourself surely has resources others don't."

 

"You," Jim pointed at her with his glass, "are not nearly drunk enough to be making puns that bad." Ignoring her too-innocent expression, he continued, "But to answer the question…. No. I had the opportunity, once - an Orion girl I knew had some, but we were interrupted before we got to that part of the evening."

 

"That truly is a shame," she said. Then she chuckled.

 

"What's funny?"

 

Di'On met his gaze after a moment. "Having the _Enterprise_ for this mission was required."

 

Jim knew that, of course, but he quirked an eyebrow when she paused. "A matter of honor?"

 

"Yes. The ship, the crew, that destroyed the traitor…"

 

"We're honored to be here," Jim said, because he thought it was expected, not because he understood Romulan honor.

 

To his surprise, she waved that away. Her expression was lighter when she continued, "It was required, but now I think it may be fortuitous as well."

 

"How so?" Jim matched his tone to her expression.

 

"Because I think my uncle will like you."

 

Jim froze. He didn't think they'd been serious enough to meet each other's families - nothing in his briefings on Romulan culture suggested that possibility.

 

Then he remembered who her uncle was, and forced himself to grin. "Well, he's an emperor, and I was named for an emperor, so we have that in common."

 

"Truly?" Di'On looked interested.

 

"I suppose technically, I was named for my grandfather and _he_ was named for an emperor," Jim admitted. "But it comes to the same thing."

 

"Tell me of this Emperor James."

 

"No, not James. Tiberius."

 

"Tiberius." She tested the name. "Emperor Tiberius. Tell me of him."

 

"Tiberius Julius Caesar," Jim said. History had never been his favorite subject, but his grandfather Tiberius had made certain he knew about their namesake. "One of Rome's greatest generals before he became emperor, but he wasn't a great emperor. He made the fundamental mistake for people like us."

 

"What mistake is that?"

 

"He took a desk job."

 

Even as she laughed, there was a flash of recognition in Di'On's eyes. She lifted her glass. "To never taking a desk job."

 

Jim touched his glass to hers and savored another sip. "If I'd known we were breaking out the good stuff tonight, I'd've brought something to share."

 

"We can share yours after, Captain."

 

"I'll look forward to it, Commander."

 

*

 

They dropped out of warp at the edges of the Babel system.

 

"All stop," Jim ordered, and turned to Uhura.

 

"Hail the Babel Confederation," he told her. "Our compliments, and we await their escort ship."

 

"Aye, sir," Uhura said. Then, "Receiving an incoming transmission, sir. Romulan - they identify themselves as _Bloodwing._ "

 

Jim recognized the name from his conversations with Di'On during the last week - that was her aunt's ship. "Page Ambassador Charvanek to the bridge, please, and accept the transmission from _Bloodwing._ "

 

Moments later, the face of a Romulan woman appeared on the main viewscreen. Her severe expression and hairstyle only served to accentuate her resemblance to Di'On, and Jim offered her a smile.

 

"Commander t'Rllaillieu, I presume."

 

She raised one eyebrow in an almost Vulcan manner. "Captain Kirk, I presume. May I compliment you on your pronunciation?"

 

"If it deserves it," Jim replied. "And if it does, the credit goes to Ambassador Charvanek for her patience with my practicing."

 

Now she returned his smile. "My niece is most gifted - with patience, among other things. We have arrived at our designated coordinates and await the Confederation's escort."

 

"We've just arrived ourselves," Jim replied. A glance at Uhura told him, "Our escort is incoming."

 

"While we wait," Commander t'Rllaillieu said, "would it be possible for the ambassador to speak to us?"

 

"I've already requested her presence," Jim said. The turbolift door opened, and he added, "And she's just arrived."

 

He saw that Di'On had already recognized the visage on the viewscreen and waved for her to approach to within the bridge camera's pickup.

 

"Greetings, Aunt," Di'On said, surprising Jim by speaking Standard.

 

"Greetings, Niece," t'Rllaillieu replied. "And from one other, as well."

 

The view on the screen shifted, and now instead of facing a Romulan woman who oddly reminded him of his mother, Jim saw a Romulan male with salt-and-pepper hair, and an expression far more genial than Commander t'Rllaillieu's.

 

Even from the sideways angle that he had, Jim saw Di'On smile. "Uncle."

 

 _So that's the Romulan emperor._ Jim studied the other man more closely as he returned Di'On's greeting. His expression might be genial, but there was care in his eyes, and a lingering aura of … sadness? perhaps grief? … that probably came with the job.

 

He focused on the emperor's words again, and was surprised to hear that he seemed to be regaling Di'On with stories of his grandson's exploits aboard _Bloodwing._

 

"And he's barely ten," the emperor said, as though he'd suddenly remembered others - who had no idea who said grandson was - were listening.

 

Jim was searching for suitably complimentary words when an alarm sounded.

 

He jumped in his seat, before he realized that the alarm was coming through the viewscreen from _Bloodwing_.

 

"Report," Jim barked.

 

"Two - no, three ships have entered the system, Keptin," Chekov reported. "Bearing one one zero point one, right on top of _Bloodwing_."

 

" _Bloodwing,_ what's your status?" Jim asked.

 

"Under attack," Commander t'Rllaillieu snapped back. "I don't have time to talk."

 

The image on the viewscreen shifted to the outer planet of the Babel Confederation as t'Rllaillieu cut the connection.

 

"Red alert," Jim ordered, and the siren sounded immediately. He pitched his tone to carry over it. "Get us over there, Sulu. Micro warp burst."

 

"Aye, sir," Sulu acknowledged, even as Spock spoke over him.

 

"Captain," Spock said, "Warp travel is prohibited in-system -"

 

Jim barely heard as he turned toward Communications. "Uhura, our apologies to the Confederation, but we are responding defensively."

 

"Yes, sir," she answered.

 

In the seconds it took them to cross the system to _Bloodwing's_ location, Jim glanced at Di'On.

 

She was almost as composed as a Vulcan, except for her eyes. Those were filled with anguish and helplessness. He wanted to say something, do something - anything - to comfort her, but right now he had to be the captain, not her lover.

 

It was small balm to his regret that she'd expect him to be the captain in this moment.

 

"Alert the transporter rooms and medbay - we may have an emergency evacuation on our hands," he said. Uhura's acknowledgment barely registered.

 

Jim looked at the screen again, blurry in those long seconds as they made the warp jump, and allowed himself to think what he'd been avoiding. _If there are survivors._

 

The neutrality of the Babel Confederation was inviolate - not just by treaty, but by decades of practice. Anyone who broke it faced the wrath not just of the Confederation itself, but all the worlds and entities who had signed the charter. All member worlds - and probably a great number of non-member worlds who nonetheless counted on Babel's neutrality as a matter of course - were bound to make war on anyone who violated that neutrality.

 

Whoever was attacking _Bloodwing_ would make sure their attack was successful.

 

"Dropping out of warp," Sulu announced.

 

"Shields up," Jim ordered. "Weapons ready."

 

"In three," Sulu said. "Two. One."

 

The view on the screen changed again, and Di'On's cry, soft as it was, echoed in the silence of the bridge.

 

Three warbirds were swarming a fourth - _Bloodwing,_ Jim decided - weapons raining destruction down on her.

 

" _Bloodwing's_ shields at twenty-three percent," Spock reported.

 

"Helm and tactical, defensive maneuvers and weapons at your discretion. Spock, begin emergency rescue procedures," Jim said. "Ambassador, would the Emperor still be on the bridge?"

 

Di'On didn't respond, her eyes fixed on the screen.

 

 _Dammit._ Jim might have to be the captain just now, but she did, too.

 

"Commander Charvanek," Jim snapped. "Report."

 

Whether it was his words or his tone that got through to her, she turned those haunted eyes to him. "If he is not on the bridge, he'll be…"

 

She turned and pointed to a location on Spock's screen. Spock would coordinate the rescue effort, so Jim let them fade from his attention.

 

On screen, it was clear that the battle - if it could be called that, it was really more an ambush - was over, or nearly so.

 

 _Bloodwing_ had dozens of open, gaping holes in her hull, and a long slash had removed a good portion of her port stabilizing array. Whether anyone aboard was still alive was anyone's guess.

 

Sulu and Chekov put _Enterprise_ through maneuvers her designers had probably never visualized, and scored a few solid hits on the attacking ships, but then the ships were tearing away, and heading for warp.

 

"Uhura," Kirk said. "Has the Confederation ordered retribution under Section Two Twelve of the Treaty Confirming Neutrality?"

 

"Not yet, Captain."

 

 _Why the hell not?_ Jim couldn't ask that aloud. What he could say was, "Keep at them - politely, of course. Status of rescue efforts, Mr. Spock?"

 

"We have beamed nearly two dozen aboard, Captain, and are continuing to gather those we can," Spock replied. "Those with injuries are being taken to medbay, including the emperor."

 

At Spock's final words, Di'On gasped and ran for the turbolift. The part of Jim that was her lover wanted to follow, but the part of him that was the captain knew he had to remain. He blew out a silent breath and turned to Uhura.

 

"Cancel red alert," Jim said, and the alarms and lights returned to their normal, quiescent state. "Make sure the Confederation gets all the data we have on the attack, and file a formal request for retribution under Section Two Twelve."


	5. Chapter 5

As soon as she'd heard the word _emperor_ pass Jim's lips, Di'On bolted for the turbolift, relying on its guidance to get to medbay.

 

When she arrived, the first thing that greeted her was the stench - burning flesh, the coppery smell of spilled blood - even before she got to the door.

 

She paused just inside to orient herself to the layout of this overly-large, unfamiliar space. What was familiar, though, was the sense of controlled chaos as medical personnel performed triage and treated injuries. Di'On scanned her people - for all the injured _were_ her people, even if she'd never served with them before - quickly, searching for her aunt, her uncle or any other members of her family.

 

She found none, but paused when she saw Tafv, her aunt Ael's second in command. He sat against the far wall beside a door marked _Surgery_ , cradling his left arm against his body. Di'On dodged other crew and personnel as she crossed the room.

 

"Subcommander," she said, falling back on formality for its comforting familiarity. "The commander? The emperor?"

 

"In there." Tafv jerked his head toward the door beside him. "They are both grievously hurt."

 

"Thank you." Di'On stepped past him to the door, scowling when it failed to open. Then she pounded on it.

 

After a moment, it slid partway open, just enough that Di'On could see a blonde woman beyond. "Doctors McCoy and M'Benga are in surgery -"

 

Di'On cut her off. "I am kin both to the emperor and the commander, and I will see them now."

 

"I'm sorry," the woman - a nurse, Di'On supposed - began, "but -"

 

"Let her in, Chapel." Di'On recognized the voice as belonging to Dr. McCoy, the chief medical officer who'd been sent as a hostage when she defected with _Iron Talon_ and its crew.

 

Unhappily, the woman - Chapel - released the door and stood aside to let Di'On into the antechamber. Beyond, through a force field, Di'On could see the operating theater where two beds were currently occupied. From this distance, and given the sterile fields around the beds, she couldn't see who the patients were.

 

She could see Dr. McCoy at one of the beds, a dark-skinned man - presumably the M'Benga Nurse Chapel had referred to - at the other.

 

"Sterilizing field is there," Chapel was saying, and Di'On focused on those words. "When the light turns green, put on a gown."

 

Chapel went first to demonstrate the process, and Di'On followed her into the surgery theater.

 

As she approached the beds, she saw that her aunt lay on the bed where Dr. M'Benga was working. She would have paused, but McCoy spoke first.

 

"Maybe you can talk sense into him."

 

Di'On stepped closer toward the bed to gaze down at her uncle's head - the only part of him visible beneath the sterile surgical field, and only just visible through the tangle of tubes and machinery keeping him alive.

 

The right side of his face was burned - more melted flesh than normal flesh. His right ear was charred almost to ash, his right eye appeared to be fused closed, and most of the right side of his jaw and mouth were in similar condition.

 

His left eye, though, met her gaze clearly, though it was bright with unshed tears.

 

Di'On refused to look away, even as she addressed McCoy. "What _sense_ do you mean, Doctor?"

 

"He's refusing surgery," McCoy said. "Hell, he's refusing painkillers."

 

Finally, she looked up at the doctor. "Is this the extent of his injuries?"

 

"No."

 

McCoy touched a control, and the sterile field faded to transparency.

 

It took all the discipline Di'On had needed to become a commander in her own right, not simply a relative given a command as a favor, not to flinch as the extent of her uncle's - the emperor's - injuries was revealed.

 

Fully half of his right leg was burned away, much of his torso was as charred as his face, and his entire right arm was missing as though it had never been there.

 

"Your wish, my lord uncle," she whispered in her own language.

 

"Rr…" The noise did not sound like something a humanoid could make, even with flesh as damaged as his. His good eye narrowed, and she could only assume it was frustration that he couldn't speak.

 

Then she heard the faintest tapping sound. Frowning, Di'On tracked down his mostly-intact left arm to see that he tapped his fingers against the biobed.

 

Light glinted off the ring on his first finger, and her breath caught. Of course.

 

"The ring?" she asked, still in her own language.

 

"Aye," he answered in Federation Standard, the word easily spoken on an exhale through damaged vocal cords.

 

Di'On reached for his left hand, but McCoy grabbed her wrist. "What d'you think you're doing?"

 

"He wishes the ring removed, Doctor," she told him.

 

"Not gonna happen," McCoy told her. "Not without a lot of regenerative work for all that tissue damage."

 

"Then cut it off."

 

"This is medbay, dammit, not a metalworking shop," McCoy said. "None of my instruments will cut through the metal."

 

Di'On swallowed hard and glanced at her uncle for confirmation. His gaze held no fear, only determination. She steeled herself for what came next. "You misunderstood. Cut off his finger."

 

"Now just a goddamn minute -!"

 

"It is his wish, Doctor, and my duty to follow his wishes. If you will not, then I must."

 

McCoy scowled at her, then transferred a much softer gaze to her uncle. "Is that really what you want?"

 

"Aye," he said again, though much more weakly than he had before.

 

"Goddamn brutality, that's what it is," McCoy muttered, but he was reaching for a surgical scalpel even as he did.

 

Minutes later, the operation was complete, and he was dipping the ring into a solution that dissolved the flesh inside it. Di'On accepted the ring from McCoy, held it so her uncle could see it.

 

"What is your will, Uncle? Whom shall I give it to?"

 

"Y-you." His voice was barely a whisper, and even as it trailed off, the biobed he lay on beeped in time with his failing heart.

 

"I _knew_ it." McCoy reached for an instrument Di'On didn't recognize, but she guessed it had to be something for her uncle's heart. "That was one shock too many, small as it was."

 

"Do not, Doctor." Her commander's voice came out, and it was enough to shock McCoy still for a heartbeat, two, three.

 

"But he'll die."

 

"It is his choice," Di'On said. "He can no longer lead our people into battle. You will honor his choice."

 

McCoy looked like he wanted to argue, but before he could find the words, the biobed monitors fell into the low monotone that meant her uncle had passed out of this world.

 

Di'On swallowed back the tears she couldn't cry now and slipped the ring unobtrusively onto her left thumb. It still felt loose, but less so than it would have on any of her other fingers.

 

"Thank you, Doctor."

 

"Don't thank me," McCoy said. "I feel like I just broke the Oath. First, to do no harm…that last shock killed him."

 

"No," Di'On told him, and of that she was certain. "The traitors who fired on _Bloodwing_ killed him. You eased his passing and honored his final wish. You could do no more service for him than you did, and I am grateful."

 

She held McCoy's gaze until he nodded, however reluctantly, before turning her gaze to the other bed.

 

"How is the commander?"

 

"Stable," M'Benga replied. "At least for now. She lost a lot of blood, but enough survivors donated that we were able to replace it. I'm optimistic, but time will tell. For now, she'll be moved to recovery and monitored."

 

"Which means," McCoy said, "shoo."

 

Di'On frowned at the word. "Shoe?"

 

"No, shoo. Go on, get out of here," McCoy clarified. "There's nothing else you can do but get in the way."

 

Di'On knew he was correct, and allowed herself to be escorted back to the waiting area.

 

A dozen pairs of Romulan eyes greeted her - and one pair of very blue human ones.

 

She spared a glance for Jim, but straightened and faced her people.

 

"The Emperor is dead," she told them. "I witnessed his passing myself."

 

A sharp voice cut across the murmur of prayers for her uncle. Tafv's voice. "You wear the sigil."

 

She met his gaze. "He entrusted it to me, though we don't know how many of the imperial family survived."

 

"I can help with that."

 

Di'On turned to Jim. "Captain?"

 

He offered her a datapad. "A list of the survivors."

 

It didn't take long to scroll through the names. "So few."

 

"I'm sorry we couldn't get more." Jim's voice was quiet, and the regret in it was real. "The damage was too severe - _Bloodwing_ exploded in the middle of transporting the last group."

 

Di'On nodded, numb as she handed the pad back to him. "None of the imperial family."

 

Tafv stood, still bracing his arm, though it had been encased in a flexi-cast. "Hail the Empress."

 

"No," Di'On said sharply, quickly. "There are still those who remained behind at home."

 

"Speaking of home." Jim's voice again, and she turned to him. "We're meeting to discuss retribution. I assume you want to be there?"

 

"Yes, Captain. But first I must contact my cousin and tell him the news."

 

*

 

Jim left Di'On in Uhura's more-than-capable hands before striding into his ready room. A glance told him that President Kiraly, Sarek, and both Spocks had already arrived.

 

"Report." Jim took his seat.

 

"Forty-eight survivors were beamed aboard," Spock - the one he shared a bond with - replied. "Five have since died of their injuries. Another eight remain in medbay with severe injuries. The remaining thirty-five have been treated and released. Yeoman Rand is coordinating temporary billets for them."

 

Jim blew out a breath. The numbers were less than he'd hoped and more than he'd feared, but given the suddenness and viciousness of the attack, he supposed they were to be expected.

 

"Among the casualties," Spock continued, "were the Emperor, his son's wife, and his grandson."

 

"How horrible," President Kiraly murmured.

 

"Interesting," the elder Spock said. "One has to wonder whether this attack was as a result of our negotiations, or whether it was directed at the emperor personally."

 

"Ambassador Charvanek is contacting her family now, so with luck we'll be able to answer that soon. In any case," Jim said, "what's the word from Babel regarding retribution?"

 

"As the ranking diplomatic official aboard," Spock answered, "I asked Ambassador Sarek to speak with the Confederation."

 

Jim spared a glance at President Kiraly - she was, after all, the ranking official aboard, period - but she seemed more interested in what Sarek might say than in any possible offense to her position. He focused his attention on Sarek.

 

"The Confederation has concluded," Sarek said, "logically but, I believe erroneously, that the attack was civil in nature -"

 

"There was nothing _civil_ about it," Kiraly said.

 

Sarek regarded her blandly for a moment, then said, "The attack came from a domestic source - Romulan against Romulan - and therefore does not violate the Treaty."

 

He'd barely finished speaking when the door to the ready room slid open and Di'On burst in. She was almost quivering with rage, Jim saw, but when she spoke, her voice was steady, if rough.

 

"All of my family is dead," she said. "At the same time _Bloodwing_ was under attack here, my cousins, my aunts and uncles, all of the family were slaughtered on Romulus. Raimahan has declared himself emperor."

 

"The commander who tried to hunt you down when you defected," Jim said.

 

Di'On nodded tightly. "The retribution for the attack on _Bloodwing_ will also remove this usurping pretender."

 

"There will be no retribution," Sarek said. "The Confederation has determined that the attack was internal, and therefore outside their influence."

 

Jim didn't need a bond with Di'On to sense the rage about to explode from within her, and he spoke before he thought. "That's not the only possibility."

 

Di'On whirled on him. "What do you mean?"

 

"I, too, would be interested in your thoughts," the elder Spock said.

 

"The emperor was coming to us," Jim said slowly, backtracking through his conclusion to rebuild the steps he'd taken to come to it in the first place. "Specifically, he was coming to sign a treaty with us - a treaty that would have made Romulus part of the Federation."

 

"Technically, it would have made the Empire a confederate of the Federation," President Kiraly said.

 

"I believe in this instance, the distinction is moot," the elder Spock said. "Please continue, Captain."

 

"The minute he signed that treaty, we'd be bound to defend the Empire from all threats, domestic or foreign," Jim continued. "He was killed before he could sign… but his heir can sign it."

 

"It doesn't sound like Emperor Raimahan is of a mind to sign the treaty," Kiraly said.

 

Jim gave her a thin smile. "I wasn't talking about him."

 

"Then who?" Kiraly demanded.

 

"His surviving blood relative." Jim turned to look at Di'On.

 

"Fascinating." The word came from three Vulcans' mouths, and Jim's own lips twitched with amusement he couldn't show at the moment.

 

Di'On sat heavily in the nearest chair. "Captain, your intent to do me honor is…ironically accurate."

 

"Explain," Jim said.

 

"Before he died, my honored uncle passed this to me." She held up her left hand, turning it to display the ring on her thumb.

 

Jim frowned. He hadn't seen her wearing it before, and now that he looked more closely, he thought it fit her loosely.

 

"This is the emperor's personal seal," Di'On explained, "worn on the left hand to symbolize his willingness to stand between the Empire and all who would do it harm."

 

"The shield-arm of old," the elder Spock murmured.

 

"Indeed," Di'On said. "It is a sign of his blessing, his selection of me as his heir. I will sign the treaty on behalf of the Empire."

 

"This is … most unusual," Kiraly said. "We must discuss this."

 

"That's our cue." Jim rose from his seat. "C'mon, Spock, Ambassador… Sorry, your Highness."


	6. Chapter 6

When they were summoned back to the ready room, Jim was only slightly surprised to hear that President Kiraly had approved his plan - not that it was a plan, yet; the plan would come later. But she'd approved the strategy, and Jim made a mental note to ask the older Spock for details sometime later.

 

"We will, of course, contact the Admiralty to request more ships," Kiraly said in conclusion.

 

"It'll be over before they get here," Jim muttered.

 

Di'On frowned at him. "You said that before, when mutineers took your ship."

 

Had he? Jim didn't remember, but "I was right then, too. The situation isn't all that different - mutineers took your throne, after all."

 

Sarek regarded him gravely. "While your analogy is apt, I fail to see how this situation can be solved with transporters and stealth."

 

From the corner of his eye, Jim saw the elder Spock's lips twitch ever so slightly, and that meant his own fight to contain a grin was lost. At least he kept it to a grin and not a full-blown laugh. "You will. Di- your Highness, will you confer with Mr. Spock? We'll need the best data possible concerning where Raimahan will be and what we'll face when we get there."

 

Di'On - crap, did he have to _think_ of her as her Highness, too? It was hard enough remembering to address her that way - leveled a glare at him. Jim had to admit it was a good effort, but then he'd been on the receiving end of glares from Spock that would make this one wither in shame.

 

"That would be tantamount to giving you an open invitation to destroy Romulus at your leisure."

 

"And you can change a lot of it once we're done taking back your family's crown. Do Romulans even have crowns?" Jim shook his head, briefly, then sobered. "I get it - really. But if we're going to take out Raimahan, we need to do it fast and hard, and this is the best option I see. Do you have another one?"

 

Her mouth tightened. "No."

 

"Then tell us what we need to know," Jim said. "I promise no one who doesn't need to know for this mission will find out."

 

She nodded, once, though she was still clearly not happy with the solution.

 

There was one more question Jim needed answered. "Will _Bloodwing's_ people follow you?"

 

"For vengeance, yes," Di'On said. "After that, I cannot say - but that is for me to deal with after we have dealt with Raimahan."

 

Jim nodded, then turned back to the three still sitting at the table. President Kiraly looked somewhat stunned, Sarek looked faintly baffled, and the older Spock's expression conveyed both amusement and respect. At least, it would have if it had been his _t'hy'la_ wearing that expression, and Jim supposed the two Spocks had similar tells.

 

"Madam President, Ambassadors," he said. "I can't risk your lives on this. Will you and your parties remain on Babel?"

 

"Of course, Captain," the president responded.

 

Sarek inclined his head minutely. "It is the logical course of action."

 

"I'll make arrangements for your transport home," Jim told them. "Spock, let me know when you're done."

 

*

 

When he returned to the bridge, Jim waved a hand to indicate that the lieutenant - not Sulu or Uhura - currently in the center seat should remain there. Instead, his angled his steps toward the helm and tactical console, where Sulu and Chekov looked up at his approach.

 

"Need your help, gentlemen," Jim said, and they straightened in their chairs. "Review everything we've got on the Romulan homeworld - including how to sneak up on it."

 

"Captain?" Sulu sounded concerned. Chekov just looked excited.

 

"We have to get in fast," Jim added. "And may have to get out faster."

 

Then Sulu's expression registered, and Jim grinned. "Relax, Mr. Sulu - it's under orders. This time, anyway."

 

He clapped his helmsman's shoulder, then made his way to the communications station. "Lieutenant, I need a secure line to Admiral Pike."

 

"Yes, sir. Shall I patch it through to the ready room?"

 

Jim glanced at the door to the room in question, surprised when it whooshed open to allow the elder Spock to return to the bridge. He hadn't been paying attention when Sarek and President Kiraly left, and had thought the elder Spock left with them. Apparently not - and he returned his attention to Uhura's question.

 

"No - my quarters, please," he told Uhura. "And when you're done with that, scan all Romulan frequencies. There's been a coup, and we need to know everything that's going on."

 

To her credit, she didn't ask any of the questions Jim could see lingering behind her gaze, instead saying, "Aye, sir. I'll let you know when your call goes through."

 

"Thanks."

 

He straightened and turned for the turbolift. When he arrived at his quarters, the light on his comm unit was blinking softly, and Jim sat at his desk before activating it. Uhura's face appeared on the screen.

 

"That was fast," Jim said.

 

"It's only Earth, Captain." And no, not-quite condescending amusement was not restricted to Spock or to Vulcans. But, this being Uhura, she might have learned it from Spock. "Admiral Pike for you."

 

Jim barely had time to straighten in his seat before the image on the screen shifted, and Jim found himself facing the admiral.

 

"Sir," Jim said.

 

"No need for the formality," Pike replied. "What's up?"

 

"I need a favor," Jim told him.

 

Pike's gaze sharpened. "Something wrong?"

 

"Yeah, you could say that." But Jim waved it away. "Not that important, we're handling it. But I need transport from Babel for not more than twenty people, eight of them injured."

 

"I suppose now is not the time to point out that there are regular commercial shuttles."

 

"I need something fast and quiet," Jim told him. "The more heavily armed, the better."

 

Pike's eyebrows shot up. "That's a hell of a favor."

 

"I wouldn't ask if it weren't important."

 

On the screen, Pike gave a small sigh. "I have no idea what I'll tell the Admiralty."

 

Jim couldn't help grinning. "Tell them it's a special request for President Kiraly."

 

Pike snorted. "How did you pass the Academy spewing bullshit like that?"

 

Now Jim sobered. "They'll believe it," he told Pike. "At least Admiral Komack will, because she's aboard _Enterprise_ now and will be on Babel by the time you get here."

 

He wanted to grin at Pike's dumbfounded expression, but the reality of the situation had suddenly landed on his shoulders.

 

"Where will you be?" Pike asked.

 

"I'll tell you when we get back."

 

He didn't say anything else, and finally Pike nodded once, a brief, sharp movement, before checking something offscreen. "The cutter _Dundonald_ is in spacedock. I'll get her and be en route as soon as I can."

 

"Thank you, Admiral."

 

"Safe skies, Captain."

 

*

 

Di'On would never admit aloud how impressed she was at the efficiency and effectiveness of Jim's crew. Once the decision had been made, it was a matter of minutes, not even an hour, before they had beamed the diplomatic party and those of _Bloodwing's_ crew too injured to take part in the reclamation down to Babel and were en route to Romulus.

 

She also would never admit how anxious she was at the hastily-conceived plan Jim had outlined. If it could, however charitably, even be called a _plan_ , rather than a vague, half-formed notion of what might happen once they reached Romulan space.

 

But Jim's crew - even the half-Vulcan first officer - had implicit, unswerving faith in it or in Jim, and so Di'On kept her doubts to herself even as she made her way from the ready room to the observation lounge. She could exercise her diplomatic privilege to be on the bridge for the _Enterprise's_ departure from Babel, but today, she felt the need to be alone with her grief, and the stars, so she made her way to the observation lounge that had become her favorite place on board the ship - and not just for the view of the starfield outside.

 

She watched the stars shift position as the _Enterprise_ adjusted course, and then a moment later, they disappeared when _Enterprise_ shot to a speed tens of times faster than the light from those stars traveled.

 

Here, alone in the black, Di'On could grieve her family, and her world as she had known it, for whatever happened next, however events played out, her world would never be the same again. Nor would she.

 

Some time later, the door whispered open. She knew who was there even before she heard his quiet voice.

 

"I grieve with thee. We all do."

 

Di'On nodded without turning, listened to the soft sounds of his footsteps as he came to stand behind her, close enough to comfort without intruding by touch.

 

"How can I help?" Jim asked after a moment.

 

Finally, Di'On turned to him. "You are helping, Jim - you and the Federation. You're helping me find justice for my uncle."

 

"Justice or revenge?" he asked with a hint of his usual cheer.

 

Di'On had to smile, and if it was grimmer than the ones she'd given him before now, she knew he'd understand. "Perhaps both, but more justice than revenge, I hope."

 

"I understand. And to that end, we have an idea we need your input on."

 

"What idea?"

 

"Better to show you than to explain it. Will you come?"

 

"Of course."

 

*

 

Ten minutes later, Di'On could only stare numbly at the viewscreen that had just gone dark.

 

"What is - how did you -?" Words failed her, and she could only gesture at the screen.

 

Jim had brought her back to his ready room, where both Spocks waited, joined by Dr. McCoy and Lieutenant Uhura.

 

"It's standard procedure in cases of heavy trauma," McCoy said. "Everything's recorded, to assure the patient and family that everything that could be done was done. Other reasons, too, but those aren't important right now."

 

"What's important," Jim said, "is that we have a weapon for a different kind of fight. We have a video of the emperor passing his ring to you."

 

Di'On looked from face to face. "I don't understand."

 

"Twentieth-century Terrans termed it _psychological warfare_ ," Ambassador Spock said. "Not all wars are won by force of arms."

 

"If we broadcast this video across Romulus, we can rally people to your side, and maybe prevent a civil war," Jim said.

 

"It feels … dishonorable," Di'On said finally. "Though I'm not certain why."

 

"More dishonorable than what they did to the emperor?" McCoy asked acerbically.

 

Di'On stiffened. "Certainly not!"

 

McCoy shrugged, as though to end the topic. Commander Spock leaned forward slightly, and she met his gaze.

 

"It is logical to save lives where possible," he said. "This may do so."

 

Di'On had to admit that he was right, and still something about the idea didn't sit well with her warrior's nature.

 

But she had larger concerns now, including her people… the people she would rule, if their plan worked. It would be as wrong as it was inauspicious to begin that rule with more bloodshed than was strictly necessary.

 

"Very well," she said. "What do I do?"

 

*

 

Jim glanced around the bridge as alpha shift ended, noting that Spock and Uhura were still sequestered in the ready room with the elder Spock and Di'On. He quelled the urge to check on them, handed off the conn to Commander Kushida, and started for the turbolift.

 

It wasn't likely that Di'On would join him tonight, not after the deaths of so many of her family, so Jim directed the turbolift to deck two.

 

How was it that after such a short time together - and could they even be considered _together_ , at this point? - Jim felt incomplete without her?

 

The door to his quarters opened and shut for him. He stripped his gold overtunic over his head and flung it into the fabric 'fresher. His boots went neatly into their place in his closet, and then his socks followed his overtunic.

 

For long moments, Jim stood staring at the 'fresher, just feeling the ache of Di'On's absence. Then he shook his head, hoping to shake himself out of his uncharacteristic funk.

 

 _Get over it, Jim. There's only room for one lady in your life, and her name's_ Enterprise.

 

An hour later, Jim lounged on his sofa, a datapad on his lap, immersed in the never-ending stream of reports Starfleet required.

 

The stream might be never-ending, but at least it had lessened in recent weeks from the near-flood levels of the beginning of his captaincy. Jim reminded himself to thank Pike for that the next time they spoke.

 

Still, the chime at his door was a welcome distraction, and he didn't bother to identify his visitor before calling, "Come."

 

When he looked up, his pulse quickened when he saw Di'On. Apparently, she did want him tonight - and he'd let her down.

 

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know what you wanted -"

 

But she was shaking her head. "No need to apologize, not after this day."

 

Jim set his datapad aside and rose to his feet. "I don't know what you want tonight. Whatever it is, I'm here."

 

She came to him, then, and let him hold her, and when she leaned up to kiss him, he met her halfway.

 

Later, when they lay quietly together, she said, "Do you believe - truly believe - we will succeed?"

 

Jim tugged her closer against his chest. "We only had a four point three percent chance of defeating Nero, and we pulled that off."

 

"Four point three?" Di'On sounded amused and curious all at once.

 

He chuckled even as he stroked her hair. "According to Spock, and I never argue numbers with him. You can, if you want, just let me know so I can bring popcorn."

 

"What does he calculate the odds are for our success?"

 

"I haven't asked," Jim said, and he wasn't forcing confidence when he added, "but this is the right thing to do. I know we'll succeed."


	7. Chapter 7

"I don't get it," Bones grumbled as he prepped a hypo. "It's a Romulan civil war. Why do you have to beam down in the middle of it?"

 

Jim watched him work with a wary eye. Romulus' atmosphere wasn't as inhospitable to humans as Vulcan's had been, but it was inhospitable enough that Jim would need a pharmaceutical cocktail to prevent him from collapsing within minutes of beaming down to the surface.

 

Then the question registered and he blew out a breath. "Something about their rules for presenting evidence. If that video of the emperor is going to help Di'On, it has to be presented properly, and that means I beam down with her."

 

"Di'On, huh? Not Ambassador Charvanek?"

 

"Bones - " Jim broke off, not sure either where Bones was going or what he should say in response.

 

Bones administered the hypo with more gentleness than he normally did, and Jim quirked an eyebrow in his direction.

 

"I'm not gonna say anything. Just - I'll have a glass of Kentucky's best waiting when you get back."

 

"Thanks," Jim said. "I think."

 

"It's the best offer you're gonna get today," Bones retorted. "Just - be careful."

 

Jim clapped his friend's shoulder and started for the door. "I always am."

 

"Depends on your definition of _always_ ," Bones's voice faded behind the medbay door.

 

Jim stopped short at the knot of people waiting in the corridor - a half-dozen men and women in tactical armor. "What the -"

 

"Commander Spock's orders," Lieutenant Hendorff replied. "We are your honor guard."

 

_Honor guard? What the hell, Spock?_

 

Jim didn't wait for a response through the bond before saying, "I can't ask any of you to -"

 

"We volunteered," Hendorff replied. "I'm told we'll be dropping out of warp in ten minutes, so we'd better get you to the transporter room. Sir."

 

"Lead on, then." Jim sent affectionate frustration through the bond, and felt Spock's amused acknowledgment in return.

 

*

 

Jim hadn't been surprised to learn that the Imperial palace was shielded against transport. He was surprised that they were beaming directly into a residence not far from the palace.

 

"Evieste was my first teacher," Di'On explained as she stepped onto a transporter pad. Jim took his place beside her, and two of each of their crew filled in the other spaces. "She is pleased that someone survives to challenge Raimahan."

 

When the world re-solidified around them, Jim watched his crew secure the space efficiently, and then his gaze met the amused eyes of an older Romulan woman. How much older was impossible to tell, because she carried herself straight but not stiffly, and her skin held only the tiniest of laugh lines.

 

Jim spoke a formal greeting in Romulan and was rewarded by a wide smile. Then Di'On was thanking her for her assistance and begging off. It was a strange combination of formality and military efficiency, and Jim suspected he'd look back on the moment as one of the oddest of his life.

 

Then Di'On was leading them swiftly through dusk-darkened streets toward the palace a few hundred meters away.

 

What struck Jim the most was the odd silence surrounding them. San Francisco, even Riverside, would be more active than this, with a daytime shift ending and people gearing up for dinner out or other evening activities. But this city - i'Ramnau - was quiet, almost subdued. He'd have to ask Di'On whether that was typical or an effect of Raimahan's coup.

 

Regardless of the cause, the empty streets made for quick progress.

 

Progress which was equally quickly stopped as they rounded a corner at the base of the palace grounds. A small phalanx of Romulan troops blocked the approach.

 

"Stand down," Di'On called in Romulan. "I am Di'On Charvanek -"

 

Her statement was punctuated by disruptor fire, and Jim dove for cover even as he brought his phaser up to return fire.

 

Another blast singed the edge of his sleeve, and Jim cursed silently. _We're set on stun. They're out for blood._

 

But these troops weren't tactically trained like his own. They understood only _fight_ , not _fight smart_. From somewhere to his left, Jim heard Hendorff's quiet orders, and then his people were moving, faster than Jim would have expected, rushing the phalanx, painting them with return fire.

 

Minutes later, the Romulans had fallen, and Hendorff stood over Jim while Jim regained his feet.

 

"Good work," Jim told him. Then he turned to Di'On, saw that where two of his crew had been grazed by disruptor fire, she knelt beside the prone figure of one of hers.

 

"Dead," she announced as she rose to her feet. Her tone was grim, determined. "Let's make certain he did not die in vain."

 

*

 

Di'On kept her expression as neutral as a Vulcan's as they resumed their march on the palace. Inside, she doubted.

 

She'd assumed that Raimahan had acted alone, or with a few co-conspirators. Running into a phalanx of troops barring the way made her wonder how much support he actually had. Was this a popular revolution, and if so, was she leading her crew and the _Enterprise's_ crew into a deathtrap?

 

The question she didn't want to acknowledge followed: Was she getting Jim killed for nothing?

 

But the palace felt empty - there were no signs of clerical staff or courtiers, and the few people they encountered crossing the courtyard to the great hall appeared to be servants and simply bowed and moved aside so that her crew could pass.

 

Just how many people had Raimahan and his people killed?

 

Her heart ached, and her spine stiffened. Whatever the number, they would be avenged.

 

They made a final turn and saw the doors to the great hall standing open.

 

"Ambush?" asked one of Jim's crew - Hendorff, Di'On reminded herself.

 

"Tradition," Tafv replied. "A reminder that the Emperor is available to his people at all times."

 

Di'On inhaled deeply, and exhaled silently, settling her expression and her nerves as best she could. Then she strode forward, into the great hall.

 

Only to be blocked by two men clad in the armor of the Imperial Guard. The other Guardsmen stationed in the corners of the hall came to attention as well.

 

"Weapons," one of the two blocking her said.

 

Di'On handed hers over without protest, glanced at Jim. Grim-faced, Jim complied as well, and his crew reluctantly followed his lead.

 

Then the Guardsmen stepped aside, and Di'On resumed her approach.

 

At the far end of the hall, a double handful of people clustered near the base of the dais. On the dais, on the throne, Raimahan lounged indolently.

 

 _Fool,_ Di'On thought. _The Emperor has less cause to be lazy than any of us._

 

"What is the meaning of this?" Di'On recognized the speaker as Praetor Karpan. He was older than her uncle had been, and had served his father before him. Di'On had hated him since she was a toddler and learned what it meant to hate.

 

So she didn't take her gaze from the man on the throne when she answered, though it took all her self-control not to kill him where he sat so insolently. "Your pardon, Praetor. I come to claim justice for the murder of Emperor Darok Tal."

 

Raimahan - the man on the throne - didn't seem perturbed. "By what right does a traitor claim justice?"

 

"By right of blood, and by right of truth," Di'On said.

 

"You have no rights," Karpan snapped, "save those Emperor Raimahan chooses to give you."

 

"Which are none," Raimahan said.

 

Around her, both human and Romulan crews stiffened as the Guardsmen moved forward. Di'On allowed herself a tight smile.

 

"I have the right to that throne you so treasonously occupy." Di'On switched to Old High Rom and added, "I challenge you, _vang'radam_. Traitor to all that is honorable, as well as to Emperor you slaughtered."

 

"I have no patience for this," Raimahan said. "Guardsmen, remove them."

 

"We will not." One of the Guardsmen, a commander by his insignia, said.

 

Raimahan straightened, fixed him with a glare. "You are loyal to me. I command you -"

 

"We are loyal to the Empire," the commander cut him off. "In the person of its ruler. There is a dispute as to who that rightfully is. We stand apart until the challenge is resolved."

 

Before Raimahan could speak, the commander turned to face Di'On's troops. "If you are loyal to the Empire and not just your mistress, you will secure the hall until this is resolved."

 

Tafv saluted. "We are loyal."

 

Di'On watched as her troops moved to stand at intervals along the walls. Behind her, she heard the doors swing closed. Before her, the assembled ministers exchanged uneasy glances.

 

Karpan stepped forward. "We are enough of the Council to form a quorum. Speak, challenger."

 

"I am Di'On Charvanek," she began, "and I bear the Emperor's Sigil, by command of Darok Tal. In his name, I accuse the pretender sitting on the throne of regicide."

 

Briefly, she recounted the events at Babel, concluding with, "With his final breath, Darok Tal bequeathed me the Sigil."

 

Raimahan leaned forward. "Unlikely he would give the Sigil alone, without the Standard. More likely you stole the Sigil."

 

"Pardon me."

 

Di'On started at the sound of Jim's voice. She'd been so focused on Raimahan she'd forgotten his presence beside her.

 

"But I can verify the sequence of events at Babel."

 

A stir ran through those gathered in the room, including the Guardsman Commander, and Di'On gestured for Jim to speak.

 

*

 

Jim stood, the lone human in a room full of Romulans in the Imperial Palace on Romulus itself, watching those Romulans process his words spoken in the main dialect of the Romulan language. He should, he supposed, be terrified.

 

Blood sang in his veins, and he had to bite back a smile.

 

Finally, the one Di'On had called Praetor stirred. "Who are you?"

 

The question was asked in Standard, but Jim continued in Romulan. "James T. Kirk, captain of the starship _Enterprise_ , and I bring a true record of the events of stardate 2258.292 that occurred on board."

 

"You have brought a Federation spy to our homeworld?" Raimahan demanded. "You are a traitor twice over, Di'On Charvanek."

 

The Praetor lifted a hand. "That is yet to be decided. Speak, Captain Kirk."

 

"Federation Standard, if you will," Raimahan snapped. "Your accent is an offense before all the gods who ever lived."

 

Now Jim allowed himself a small, tight smile. "My apologies. I will leave an offering for them before I leave."

 

"If you leave."

 

Jim let Raimahan have the last word, turning instead to address the quorum. " _Enterprise_ was assigned to transport a diplomatic party from New Vulcan to Babel for a meeting with representatives from your Empire. Minutes after our arrival at the Babel confederation, the ship we were to meet, _Bloodwing_ , came under attack. We were able to beam twenty-eight people aboard before she was destroyed. One of them was the emperor."

 

"He survived?" Raimahan asked, and while his voice was steady, Jim caught traces of nerves in his expression.

 

"Briefly," Jim said. He turned to the Praetor. "If I may?"

 

The man nodded, and Jim pulled a padd from its place on his belt. He tapped a command into it before turning it toward the nearest wall. Moments later, it hummed to life, projecting a scene onto the wall.

 

Jim knew what the projection showed - the last minutes of Emperor Darok Tal's life. Because it was a medbay recording, the extent of his injuries could be seen clearly, just as his final words could be heard.

 

The brief recording hummed to a stop, and Jim found himself looking at Raimahan when he concluded, "So if she doesn't have the Standard, it's because the Standard was destroyed along with the emperor's right arm."

 

There was silence for almost a full minute before the Praetor spoke again. "Which ships attacked _Bloodwing_?"

 

" _Haakona_ , _Belak_ , and _Valdore_ ," Jim said, extending his padd toward the Praetor. "I've brought copies of the relevant ship's logs as well."

 

The Praetor took the padd from him, and Jim fixed his gaze directly on Raimahan before adding, "The last time we met, you were in command of _Valdore_."

 

"You," the Praetor's voice was low, but no less deadly for it, and he glared at Raimahan. "You lied to us - you said an unknown force attacked _Bloodwing._ But it was you. You killed Darok Tal."

 

Raimahan didn't answer with words. Instead, he tapped a command on the arm of his throne.

 

The doors to the great hall opened, and a double handful of troops burst in, disruptors firing.

 

Jim dove to the floor, rolled, and came up with his phaser to return fire.


	8. Chapter 8

"Coward." Di'On stared at Raimahan, standing tall and straight as chaos erupted around them. "Afraid to fight your own battles. Afraid to face your enemies directly. You had to kill him from a distance."

 

"To protect Romulus," Raimahan countered. "He would have subjugated us to the Federation - he's better off dead."

 

"That," Di'On said, "was not your decision to make."

 

"Whose was it?" Raimahan sneered. "Yours?"

 

There was only one answer Di'On could offer. "The emperor bows to no one's will but his own."

 

It was an old adage, as old as the Empire itself. Some called it the First Rule, though Di'On didn't agree.

 

Still, saying it had more effect than she'd hoped.

 

Raimahan snarled, lunging off the dais toward her. She took a half-step back, and as he went for her throat, she grabbed his wrist and pivoted, sending him stumbling across the hall to trip over Jim where he lay prone on the floor, phaser raised as he fired at the intruders.

 

Raimahan regained his footing quickly and leapt over Jim's body to rush Di'On again.

 

Di'On couldn't deny Raimahan was well-trained, as all who fought for the Empire were. He even had a couple of advantages - strength, reach - over her. But she had more training than a typical centurion soldier would. She had training at the hands of the Imperial Guard.

 

It was that training she called on now, dodging his swung fist, diving under the foot he aimed at her head.

 

She dodged him for a few minutes, allowing his rage to take over, make him clumsy and awkward.

 

When it happened, when she saw the reason leave his eyes, Di'On lunged forward, planting a kick solidly to Raimahan's gut, sending his body flying backward to land awkwardly on the dais he'd so recently vacated.

 

Then she turned to face the others. Jim had gotten to his feet, and looked like he wanted to smile, but he was too cautious, too much a warrior, to count this battle over just yet.

 

Di'On stepped forward. Whatever her fate, she would meet it like a warrior.

 

Then Kanpar dropped to his knees. "Empress. My life is yours."

 

*

 

Fortunately, Di'On had grown up in and around the court, and she knew how to command a situation. It was the work of a few moments to have Raimahan and his crew escorted to prison - in ancient times, she would have summarily executed him, but in these times, his execution would have to wait until after his conviction.

 

Then she had a moment to breathe, to accept the reality of what she'd just done. She'd just claimed the throne that her family had occupied for the last four and a half centuries - and all the duties and responsibilities that went with it.

 

And the price she'd pay for them.

 

Behind her, she heard Jim's voice.

 

"Kirk to _Enterprise._ How's it going up there?"

 

" _Valdore_ fired on us," Spock replied, "but ceased upon detecting the transmission from the surface."

 

"Good work, Spock." Jim said. "We're done here. Start beaming the others up. I'll be along in a few."

 

"Acknowledged."

 

Di'On faced him as he snapped his communicator shut. He grinned, and if it wasn't the smile she'd seen when they were alone together, it was a close approximation, and her breath caught momentarily in her throat.

 

"Congratulations, Your Highness."

 

"We prefer _Your Honor_ ," Di'On corrected automatically. "It's what we strive for, the ideal we hope to achieve."

 

"Your Honor, then." Jim sketched a brief bow.

 

Di'On glanced around the room. "Leave us."

 

Di'On let the room empty around them before she crossed to Jim. "You need never call me by my title, Jim."

 

He didn't acknowledge that. Instead, his lips quirked somewhere between a grin and a grimace. "Damned if you didn't end up with the deskiest of all desk jobs."

 

"I would do so again," she said.

 

"I know." Jim blew out a breath, managed a hint of a smile. "This is goodbye, then."

 

Di'On would not dishonor him, nor what they'd shared, with a lie. "Yes."

 

For a long moment, his gaze locked with hers. Romulans were not telepathic, not even by touch, like their Vulcan cousins. Even so, Di'On could almost feel his thoughts - the thoughts of what they might have shared, might have become, had events been even somewhat different.

 

Before the silence between them could grow too long or too awkward, Jim glanced around the now-empty room before leaning closer and asking, "Will it cause a diplomatic incident if a starship captain kisses an empress goodbye for now?"

 

Di'On had to smile, even as she leaned close to whisper in turn, "I think there are very few things this starship captain could do with this empress that will cause a diplomatic incident."

 

Jim returned her smile, then bent his head forward for a lingering kiss.

 

"You are always welcome here, Jim," she whispered against his lips.

 

"Be well, Di'On."

 

He brushed his lips against hers a final time before turning away and pulling out his communicator.

 

Di'On turned away even as she strained to hear his voice one last time. "Kirk to _Enterprise._ Soon as I'm clear of the palace, one to beam up."

 

*

 

As the _Enterprise_ solidified around him, Jim wasn't entirely surprised to see Spock waiting in the transporter room.

 

"I trust your mission ended successfully, Captain."

 

The words and tone were formal, but through their bond, Jim felt Spock's genuine concern.

 

Jim blew out a breath. "Successful enough. Let's get the hell out of here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A word to the wise: never title a work in progress "Trying Times." Some sympathetic magic operates to bring precisely that into your life. Or at least, it did into mine - which explains the delay in getting the story finished and also the oops in the previous chapter about Jim's weapon. It also explains why I'm not certain when I'll get any of the other stories I have in mind for this series written. Thanks for sharing this series with me this far!


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